Nuts

Nuts…

A term that could mean something yummy to eat. Or could describe some of my friends. Some of my friends would insist it describes me, which is how we know they’re nutty. But this is a dance blog, so we all know what “Nuts” really means.

NUTCRACKER!!!!

(This is the point you can run and hide, if you need to.)

For me, it is yet another blissful year not dancing or otherwise being involved in *that* ballet. And though it’s the ballet I love to hate, I have to admit, I kind of miss dancing in it, in a twisted sort of way.

(This is the point that I remind myself that back in the days when Nutcracker was the usual routine, I could barely walk into a store, coffee-shop or elevator for fear of some muzak-banjo-Waltz of the Flowers-monstrosity playing on loudspeakers and provoking rehearsal flashbacks (but on the banjo). I couldn’t take one more second of that music than I had to. Holiday shopping was near impossible.)

And yet… Enough time has passed that I have successfully repressed many of the traumatic Nut moments, and others are floating to the surface. The family tradition of my mother and I going to Nutcracker together when I was a little girl. The dressing room camaraderie as we found a way to gear up for the 28th show of the season. The fun version of Spanish that I got to do one year. The “I am superwoman” 55-second costume change while crossing over from stage left to stage right. Through the rosy glow of the past, it was kind of cool to do a ballet so much that I ended up performing almost every part at some point or another.

Which brings me to the point of this post: I was never in battle scene, and I am totally jealous of petitallegro for getting promoted to Rat King. That would have been so much fun!